The Call of Duty
by Ivanolix
Summary: While Aragorn is celebrating in Cormallen, Faramir is struggling with the political and moral dilemma of the return of the king in Minas Tirith. EPILOGUE ADDED
1. Chapter 1

**Following the Call of Duty**

"_But Faramir did not go, for now being healed he took upon him his authority and the Stewardship, although it was only for a little while, and his duty was to prepare for one who should replace him." —The Return of the King_

Staring at the stack of papers in front of him, Faramir had never felt more inclined to be Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, with no papers to deal with but his orders. Hurin of the Keys had done an excellent job of holding the City while he was in the Houses of Healing, but he had had neither the authority nor the inclination to attend to all the affairs at hand. And they were many. The war had caused more damage than merely to lives, and if they were to crown a new king, that entailed more than fetching the crown from Rath Dinen.

"My lord?" Hurin was slightly uncomfortable at the overwhelmed look on his Steward's face. "Have I erred in any duty?"

Faramir looked up. "No, you have done well. It is I who am likely to err, for though I might have expected such tasks, I will admit to not being fully prepared to face them. There is so much, so much to be done."

"Do not worry, lord, it is not all your responsibility," said Hurin smilingly. "You are only required to delegate. It is our duty, the duty of your Council, to deal with each problem."

"Of course," said Faramir smiling, "but most of the Council is in Cormallen."

"I am still here, lord," said Hurin, "and so are several lords who were wounded in the battle, but, like yourself, are now healed. We await your orders only."

Faramir took a deep breath. "Then, Lord Hurin, my first order is that you advise me on how best to deal with all these papers."

So Hurin took his place by his lord's side, and throughout the day they moved papers back and forth, discussing their priority, and signing those that needed immediate attention. Most of these were relating to organizing groups to begin cleaning and repairing the main road and its surrounding buildings, which had been much abused by the traffic of soldiers and the raining of enemy missiles.

"I want everything to be clean and shining when the King returns to the City," said Faramir. "I place my trust in you to give the right orders to the right men so that this can be accomplished."

When Hurin did not directly answer him, Faramir raised his eyes from the papers to look at him. Not understanding the discomfort in his gaze, Faramir asked:

"It is a great task, but one that I believe you are capable of. Is there anything that I am forgetting?"

"No, lord," said Hurin slowly. "I do not doubt that we can do what you require."

"Then what is your hesitation?"

Hurin twisted his hands. "My lord, I myself am completely at your service, and will do as you wish without question, but there are many others who may grumble, may think that you do this not of your free will."

"This?"

"Preparing the City for the King, my lord."

Faramir's voice had a touch of chilliness: "Please explain more fully, Lord Hurin."

"They do not think that you are required to give up the Stewardship, or that you should."

"Deny the return of the King? Is that what they think I should do?" The amazement in Faramir's voice was tempered with just a hint of contempt at such an idea.

But Hurin was in great distress, and he did not know how to answer this. Faramir's mien softened, and he said: "I do not doubt your loyalty, Lord Hurin. If you would be so kind, I would have you assemble all the lords of the City that are present, and I shall speak to them on this and other matters."

* * *

As he waited for the council to be assembled, Faramir signed another pile of papers that he and Hurin had approved. The simple act of seeing his signature next to the Steward's seal was distracting him, as his eye did double takes, his brain automatically telling him that he was signing in the wrong place. It should be Denethor's hand there, or at the very least Boromir's. The world had gone wrong in so many ways. In his simple and wholehearted joy, he had not thought that perhaps there might be people who would disagree with his decision. Aragorn was the rightful king, what more was there to say? Not wanting to make a judgment before hearing the arguments, though, he forced his mind to attend to his papers. 

Papers being a relatively mundane subject, his active mind began sifting through his recent memories, which naturally brought the White Lady to his mind. Eowyn. He had seen her last on the day he took the Stewardship, with eyes regarding him in warm friendship. It had been a difficult day for him, but he had been resolved on the purpose, and with the support of her and of his people, it had gone over well. She had become such a support to him in these past days, and now he wished she could be here at this meeting. Just her presence might soothe his troubled thoughts.

The bell rang for the hour, and as if on cue, the door opened and in walked Lord Turthorion of Dor in Ernil, followed by Gilidhor, who lived where the Lefnui flows from the White Mountains, and then by Hirestel of the Pelennor and Celingon of Anorien, and several others who lived in the City. Faramir set aside his papers and sat up straight as they took their places at the grand table of the Council.

They were suprised to see their lord so grave in aspect and manner, but he was, after all, a son of Denethor. His soft grey eyes were hard and keen as he looked at each of them in turn. Nobles of Gondor, men of high birth and position, loyal and renowned, they had no prospect of what was going through the head of Faramir.

When Hurin last of all had sat down, and all were turned towards Faramir, he called the meeting to order.

Standing, he began to speak.

"Lords of Gondor, it was not my original purpose to hold a Council, being busy with many matters, but I received some news that was both urgent and important, so I have called you together today."

Deciding that the best strategy would be for the lords themselves to broach the subject, he began on a different tangent than his purpose.

"My lords," he said, in a calmer tone than matched the tone of his mind, "there is only a short time before the feasting in Cormallen will end, and the King shall come to claim his throne. In those weeks, I hope to have everything prepared and ready for him: the City cleaned, a feast prepared, and the ravages of war dealt with. I readily admit that I cannot do all of this myself, and as Steward of the Realm, ask that your lordships aid me in this goal as far as you are able. Unless, of course, you have some suggestions or objections that you would like to present to me."

There had been slight shifting when he mentioned the king, but overall the lords had looked him in the eye, and he saw no deceit in them. Faramir took his seat. They glanced at each other, and then Lord Turthorion stood, and after bowing respectfully, spoke his piece:

"Lord Faramir, you know that we are all loyal to you and to Gondor, and therefore have its best interests in mind. In light of that loyalty, we would inquire as to the reason for accepting this man as King."

"He is the rightful Heir, Lord Turthorion," responded Faramir coolly. "Do you doubt his claim?"

"No, my lord," said Turthorion, "I do not doubt that he is the Heir of Isildur, as he claims, but such does not immediately grant him the throne of Gondor."

"Perhaps you would care to elaborate, lord," said Faramir, waving his hand in the very move that Denethor had used when being civil to a member whose motion was not pleasing to him. Hurin smiled to himself on seeing it.

Turthorion spoke humbly, but forcefully, and Faramir was impressed by his skill in speaking.

"My lord, I am sure you are aware of our long history, of the agreement between Isildur and Meneldil, son of Anarion. It was made clear then that Arnor would be ruled by the heirs of Isildur, but that Isildur would leave the rule of Gondor to the heirs of Anarion, though he could have claimed both. Such a claim was further solidified when the direct line of Anarion failed, and Arvedui, heir of Isildur and King of Arnor, claimed the throne of Gondor. That ancient agreement between Isildur and Meneldil was brought up, and Arvedui's claim denied. Even though the line of Anarion is completely ended, why should we now break such tradition, and allow the heir of Isildur to march in to take what is not lawfully his?"

Faramir was tapping his quill pen on the table, and glaring at it most intimidatingly, not trusting humself to meet the man's gaze calmly. Lord Turthorion bowed as he finished his speech, and sat down again. Faramir looked at all the lords again—they seemed to be allied in this belief—and then spoke again, though he did not rise.

"If I understand you correctly," he said in a measured steady tone, "you object to crowning Lord Aragorn as king because he is not the direct heir of Anarion, and you think that perhaps I was not aware of this fact, and was under the impression that to deny him the throne would be treason."

"That is one reason, lord," admitted Turthorion, though obviously leaving much unsaid for the moment. Faramir ignored that, and spoke directly and firmly to the spoken matter:

"It might have escaped your notice, lords, but I am the Steward of Gondor, and cannot be forced into anything. Even were he the long lost heir of Earnil himself, he could not _force_ me to give up the rule of Gondor; I am lawfully the Ruling Steward until I renounce the position. It is true that to do otherwise in such a situation would be easily labelled treasonous in all other respects, but legally it would not be so. However, though I may not have given it as much attention as your lordships obviously have, I am familiar with the precedent, and am prepared to do what my forefathers did not do, and reckon Aragorn the heir of Anarion through Elendil. Does that satisfy you?"

Turthorion stood up again. "While I and my comrades are very relieved to hear of your decision being made of your own free will, that was only a minor point of objection. We, like all loyal Gondorians, wished for the return of the king in our younger days, but obviously did not think on it as a reasonable possibility. We have been under the rule of the Stewards for so long that it seemed until recently impossible for such an heir to be found. But, as loyal Gondorians, we are somewhat hesitant to declare our alliegiance to an utter stranger, when such a man as your lordship, of high and noble birth, and long a valiant servant of Gondor, is holding the position already. I know for a fact that many of the people, also, seem to think a king somewhat superfluous, not to be dishonorable."

Faramir could feel his hearbeat quicken as his temper began to appear, but he contained it and merely tapped his pen harder, nearly glaring a hole through it. In a very chill tone, he responded to Turthorion: "I admire your patriotism, lords, but here I think it is misguided. It has long been my opinion that the only thing keeping Gondor from once again returning to its height has been that the ruler has not borne the title or authority of King. By definition a Steward is there only in waiting, and does not the oath include the words "until the king shall come again"? What you would be proposing is not a continuation of the Stewards, but, in effect, making their line the Royal line of Gondor, and granting them all the powers of a monarch."

He stood up at this point, and started to pace a little, using his hands to punctuate each enunciated remark. Hurin felt as if he beheld Denethor once again, in his youth and in the height of his power, and his heart swelled with pride.

"I do not doubt that you believe that you have Gondor's best interests at heart, but such a thing, no matter how good the intentions, is a coup, and not an honorable thing. How could you think that a Hurin would stoop to such a level?"

Turthorion indeed looked slightly uncomfortable, and most humble in aspect, but he was firm in his belief. "Lord, these are different times, and all that is old has passed away. We live in a new world, one that does not have to deal with Sauron the Accursed. New traditions will be made, and when we are declaring a new year's beginning and making a new gate for the City, what would be dishonorable about giving the House of Hurin a new title as well? The people, I am certain, would welcome it. This man, Lord Aragorn, is, as I understand, as old as your father was, and certainly fully aware of his background for many years. If he planned to make this claim, would he not, if he was a true servant of Gondor and not just ambitious, have made his dwelling here, so that he would be familiar with its people and its customs? As it is, he has lived far in the North, a ranger in the wild, friendly with elves and halflings and other strange folk. He knows nothing of Gondor. How can he rule it well?"

"He is the rightful king," said Faramir forcefully, slamming his hands down on the back of his chair in his frustration. "He has the hands of the healer, as the prophecies said, even Ioreth could make the connection, and whatever you can say, you cannot deny that fact!"

"I had no wish to make light of his marvelous heritage," said Turthorion, bowing his head. "but neither do I wish for my beloved Gondor to accept this fairy-tale ending only to fall into ruin. He is a good and noble man, that I believe, but this Lord Aragorn has had no training that would prepare him for such a role as the High King of both Gondor and Arnor. The band that he brought from the north, all in ragged grey, is merely thirty, and without armor or organization. How can he hope to manage the thousands of cavalry and fully armed knights that is the army of Gondor? How can he understand the trade routes between Dol Amroth and Anorien, or the various treaties between Pelargir and us? How can he be familiar with the nobles of the land, enough to know how to handle any strife between them?  
Yes, he may be blessed with Numenorean blood and power, but so are you my lord! You are beloved of your people, and they will follow you to the death. A king cannot survive if his people rebel under him. At the moment they will accept him, because he brought deliverance from Sauron's army, and healing to their lord. But after the glow has faded, after the happy ending is over, what then, my lord, what then?" 

Faramir was now feeling almost furious, breathing heavily, and only with focus keeping himself from saying words in his indignance that he would later regret. Turthorion sighed, and stepped forward towards the Steward's chair. In a softer tone, he said:

"My lord, we do not wish to cause dissension in the City, nor will we attempt to force your hand. Whatever you decide, we shall hold as the decision, and if you choose to step down from the Stewardship in favor if this Lord Aragorn, we shall take him to be our liege-lord. We speak only in our concern for the long-term welfare of this land and its people, and because we would not have you ignorant of our worries."

Faramir finally looked up, and his eyes were alight, but his voice was steady and icily courteous: "Once again, I thank you for your concern, and will give thought to your objections. Now, I must ask you to leave me."

They all rose, bowed low, and then departed, leaving Faramir, overcome with emotion, to sink into the Steward's chair and let his breath out heavily.

TBC

_ Author's notes: _

_This is not AU._

_All the lords of Gondor except for Hurin of the Keys are my creations. Their names are Sindarin and, though they are not meant to be particularly fitting, mean: _

_Turthorion - Son of One who Masters Eagles_

_Gilidhor - Star of Thoughtfulness_

_Hirestel - Master of Hope_

_Celingon - Green Commander_


	2. Chapter 2

**Following the Call of Duty**

**Part 2**

Faramir did not even allow Hurin by his side the rest of that day, but sat alone in the Council chamber, his mind trying to find some order in all that had happened. When Hurin had voiced hesitation on behalf of the other lords, he had expected perhaps some doubt about the truth of Aragorn's claim, that could be easily laid to rest by the fulfillment of the prophecies. He had not expected Aragorn's ancestry to be upheld, but the righteousness of his claim to be in question.

He had also not entered the room expecting to be so moved by any words said; he was set on his purpose, and felt that no question could shake his loyalty. But now, though perhaps it was the remains of his long illness, he was shaken and disturbed, and knew not what to think. While still holding on to his original intention, he found that as his righteous anger quickly faded, he could not deny the truth of much that the lords had said. Aragorn _was_ a stranger, and Gondor was no simple realm—it had taken Faramir years to come to his understanding of its workings, and he still required Lord Hurin's aid. Faramir _was_ the Steward of the realm, and it was in his oath to protect the welfare and people of Gondor, and, though not explicit, that certainly meant to keep them from rebellion and disaster. What if they were right, and Aragorn was simply unable to keep control, however much Faramir trusted in his trying his utmost? Would Faramir have failed then?

_No!_ his mind screamed, _No! It is treason to even think such things! Gondor needs a king, it is not complete without one, however capable the Stewards have been._ But oh how his mind ached, for he felt another truth in Turthorion's words, those that had spoken of a "fairy-tale ending". These stabbed Faramir to the heart, for it had been true that he had not yet seen the situation in anything but an idealized view, and had it not been for the lords, he never would have considered such things as their objections. Was he truly just a dreamer, as his father had thought, unable to see reality apart from his ideals? He had ever sought, so he believed, the very best for Gondor, and believed that Aragorn's return was an answer to all his prayers. But was it merely a fanciful dream, that in a few years would be looked back upon as a fantasy? Was he deluded by the enchanting picture of the Return of the King?

Faramir buried his face in his hands, his mind tormented by questions and sudden doubts. And yet, there was another factor. For he remembered vividly a vision that he had, long ago, of a victorious king riding into Minas Tirith. His dream about the broken Sword had been prophetic, surely he could not doubt the veracity of the other one! And yet, was he merely seeing what Aragorn would claim in the future, not what was proper and right? Aragorn had been victorious, and he would ride into Minas Tirith claiming the kingship, but the dream had not been clear on any details. And, dryly, Faramir questioned the idea of putting a whole country at stake because of a dream. He could not even be sure that it was a prophecy.

It was a pitiful sight, such a normally self-assured and strong man writhing in self-doubt. He felt that he could not trust his own judgment alone, and yet whose council could he seek? Gandalf would advise him to accept Aragorn, but his father would have declared it foolishness, and for all his faults, Faramir was not willing to accept that his father had been always mistaken.

And if he could not resolve his doubt, what then? Would he go with his instinct and resign the care of Gondor to Aragorn, only to perhaps curse himself later for folly and be racked with neverending guilt? Or was he to deny the claim of Aragorn, declaring that he needed to think on the matter more fully, only to shake what trust the people had in the embryonic king, a trust that might not be ever regained if once doubted?

Whatever his final choice, Faramir vowed to himself that he would make no hasty decision, would not say anything final until he himself was fully committed. No matter who urged him, no matter what their counsel, he would not be influenced. For his love of Gondor, he would do his utmost to be pure and unbiased.

Feeling now hot and wearied in mind, he left the Council Hall, to walk in the open air of the Citadel. All below him was busy with workers, but here it was peaceful. But the white stone reflected the sun's beams painfully into his eyes, worsening the growing headache. He turned and went to where his heart longed, to the gardens in the Houses of Healing. He spoke to no one, avoided the sight of any, and walked silently in the shade.

Eowyn was not there, and as he had not counted on meeting her, he gave her no thought. The birdsong mocked him, cheerful and unworried, for now on top of his reservations there was fear in his heart. For he had seen the loyalty of his people to him, and it was a mighty thing, as his lords had said. It was true: they would follow him to whatever end, not thinking about the rightness of it. He could do anything, and they would support him. It made him fear himself, fear the powerful force he had become in Gondor, and also fear his own heart. The power was intoxicating, it would overcome his integrity if he did not fight back. The weakest part of him wished quietly that he could remain Steward, keep his people's love and loyalty forever, not give them over to a man who might not appreciate them or be worthy of them. Quiet and intrusive, he for a moment did not realize what thoughts he was entertaining. When it did he was shaken. The realization that he was a human with temptations shocked him and frightened him, and he fought violently to drive such ideas from his head. The effort took the last strength of his newly-healed mind, and he afterwards walked empty of thought.

That evening he ate his meal alone, and went soon after to his rest, hoping that a restful night's sleep would freshen his wit to solving the conundrum before him.

The next day he awoke feeling rested, but not eager to tackle the problem. He ate breakfast once again alone, and then sent for Lord Hurin. He approached slightly hesitantly, but Faramir did not speak of the Council, and merely went through more piles of papers. It was becoming quickly easier to deal with, and by the end of the session, Hurin felt that his services would no longer be required.

After giving his final orders, and signing the last papers, Faramir saw the worry and concern on Hurin's face, and he dared broach the subject.

"I am sorry, Hurin, for my behavior to you yesterday. You have been a loyal and invaluable friend and helper to me, and I should not have treated you like the others. I do not wish for counsel on the subject that was opened yesterday, but I should be most honored if you would join me for luncheon this afternoon."

"It is I who would be honored," said Hurin, smiling.

"Also," said Faramir, "if you would carry my best wishes to the Lady Eowyn, and ask if she also would join us, I would be grateful. Just a private luncheon between friends."

"I will, lord, and I believe it is a very good idea. Perhaps a little break from duties will help to clear your mind."

"So is my hope also," said Faramir, with a slightly weary smile.

They spoke on light matters during the meal, and though they all appeared in good spirits, each was so intent on appearing normal, that they did not notice that their other companions were also somewhat forced. As he had somewhat expected, the presence of Eowyn gave Faramir great peace of mind, and though he forced himself not to become completely distracted, he let his mind forget for a while his great troubles, and enjoy her company. Though he did not know it, she was grateful for the other troubles of his mind, for he did not notice that she too was out of spirits, and the luncheon ended pleasantly.

Then Faramir went into the throne-room, and, his mind once again burdened with his responsibility, he knelt before the Steward's chair, and laid his cheek on the cool black stone. It was here that his loyalty was greatest, where his heart swelled at the very thought of Gondor, where he knew most clearly his priorities. It had always been Gondor first, family second, self third, and that had not changed. But ever before, the best thing for Gondor had been simple to discern.

He wished now more than ever that he knew more. All he knew of this Lord Aragorn was that he was Captain of the Rangers of the North, and in his company rode the sons of Elrond of Rivendell, and that he claimed to be the Heir of Isildur. He had proved that claim in the Houses of Healing, no one doubted that, but Faramir now accepted that perhaps that claim was not in itself enough. He needed more to make a decision: what military and political training, if any, had this Aragorn had? Had he ever been in Gondor before? Why did he not go there at once if he had long been aware of his birthright? Unfortunately, the answer to that last question was clear in Faramir's mind: Denethor and Ecthelion would have dismissed him outright.Was he, then, merely waiting for a Steward that he thought would accept him? Could it possibly be that he knew the weakness of his claim, and hoped that Faramir would not think twice? The blood boiled in Faramir's veins at the very idea that this might be a vast political plot, but whether it was because he would not doubt Aragorn's character, or because he hated himself for possibly being as weak as some people thought him, he could not tell. 

_Oh, was ever a man placed in such a wretched position as I?_

Faramir started stacking the evidence for Aragorn, though, and his mind began to calm. Aragorn was a man with long experience, that was certainly true. He had the support of Elrond of Rivendell, a man renowned for his wisdom. He was also supported by Gandalf, whom Faramir knew to be trustworthy. He clearly had the powers of the rightful king. He had shown leadership in uniting Lossarnach and Lebennin to come to Gondor's rescue, and had convinced Eomer of Rohan and Imrahil of Dol Amroth, both doughty men, to follow his banner to the Morannon. Furthermore, Faramir had recognized him as the king in his vision, and he felt that he had no reason to doubt the vision, though he had no proof either. All in all, it seemed an easy decision.

But the one fact remained that it was not merely whether Aragorn was by lineage the rightful king, but whether he was right for Gondor. Could he rule this country, was he right for it?

On the other hand, would Elrond and Gandalf support a man unable to bring the crown to honor? Could Faramir be so arrogant as to doubt their judgment? He was only one man, and a very young one at that.

But he was Steward. He was Steward of Gondor, and every soul in that land, every life, was under his protection, was his responsibility. Was he right to trust blindly in others' counsels?

The appeal of Aragorn's claim was obvious: it seemed so right, so fitting, to have a king return again. For over a thousand years the people had looked to the return of the king as the return of plenty, the return of prosperity, the return of peace. It had been the most happy of their hopes. And this man bore the part with surpassing fitness, being tall and kingly in appearance, noble and kindly in manner, a lord of men, and having just helped in the defeat of the greatest enemy of the times. Surely his instincts were correct from the beginning, and he should just accept what was fitting and right, and put aside these worries planted in his mind by other men.

And yet the words "fairy-tale" echoed through his mind, and he whispered them, and in the great stone room they reverberated and came back a thousand-fold to his ears. Fairy tales were too good to be true, that was why they were called so. It was not wise to trust in them, to let dreams overrule reason.

_But why_, begged Faramir's mind, _why could not this one be true? Why could not everything be well and good and easy?_

He rose from where he knelt, and walked out of the room, and passed into the great Memorial Hall of Minas Tirith. There were all the artifacts and heirlooms of the realm held, and he walked by them, seeking for something that might spur his mind to a decision. Was there anything he had missed?

Then, all at once, he saw a great tapestry, a portrayal of the Last Alliance. There were the men and elves, and Elendil the Tall, and King Gil-Galad, and every other figure from legend. He looked up at their faces, woven with great skill by weavers at the beginning of the Third Age. Then he laughed, and looked at a portrait of Isildur and Anarion in their prime, and laughed again.

Here he had found something he had indeed missed. They were living in a fairy-tale, every one of them! That tapestry of the Last Alliance was so grand and inspiring, with its characters seeming larger than life. And so they were. And yet they were real. In the North there were elves, immortal beings with great powers, and they were not merely the stuff of stories, but were real. Sauron, a character of a fairy-tale if ever there was one, had just been destroyed, and his object of power was a magic ring. A magic ring that gave the bearer invisibility! The nature of the situation struck Faramir anew, and he laughed merrily at his density at missing it before. Dreams and legends had sprung to life before his eyes without his blinking, and here he was questioning the very answer to all the prophecies, without a rough point in his claim! What part of Aragorn's story could be disbelieved? It was all proved, believed by all who met him, and what was worrying Faramir but mere technicalities about the future? Gandalf, who was a Maia come to Middle-earth, knew more than Faramir could ever hope to know, and was offering Aragorn his support. If anything was more ridiculous than resisting such support, Faramir could not think of it.

There were times in a man's life, he decided, when he must simply have faith. When he must look past his worries, and place blind hope in something, not being sure of the outcome, not having any reason for what he does, but only that he believes it is the right thing to do.

And as if he had found the missing piece to a puzzle, Faramir's mind fell into order. He had always believed in providence, in a power aiding the world beyond the comprehension of mortal thought, and he now felt as if it was working through him.

Everything had been so close to failing, so close that a breath might have blown victory away on the wind. Chance had seemed to manage everything down to the last minute, and every coincedence appeared to his mind. How could one look at such a history as the past months and worry now? It was all well! Through miraculous chance, the White City had been saved, Sauron had been defeated, and the world had been allowed to continue. In the face of such a victory, his worries seemed petty, and his faith grew.

In his heart he felt that if he hesitated now, it would all fall to pieces, and the miracles that had taken place would pale in the face of his doubt, and the great plan that had worked so far would fail in the last step. No, his duty was now clear in his mind. As winter flowed into spring, so would the downfall of Sauron be followed by the Return of the King.

With a mind now decided, a will now firm, and a heart now joyful, Faramir called Hurin to him, and told him to bear his decision to the Council. He banished all fear, and felt once again that he was strong.

The lords did not mention the subject ever again to him, and as his decision changed not one iota as the final preparations took place, though he often examined it, it was as if that Council had never happened.

Then the day came, and Faramir went to Rath Dinen, and brought forth the crown of the last king. With a heart now just a tiny bit doubtful at the last test, he brought it down to the gate as Aragorn rode towards it.

And then, when Aragorn strode forward, Faramir looked into his eyes, and his Numenorean foresight beheld the man to whom he was giving his beloved Gondor. In those eyes his decision was made, and an utter peace filled his heart, and the worries were forever driven away. He had done rightly. Knowing now what to do, Faramir knelt before the man he would give all his loyalty to, and said: "The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office."

And though he could not know it, Gandalf and Aragorn knew of what he must have borne in his mind, what he could have done, and were proud of him at that moment, and Aragorn meant it with all of his heart when he responded: "That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs' as long as my line shall last. Do now thy office!"

And so Faramir rose and obeyed, and the fairy-tale that had begun ages ago in Cuivenen came full circle, and the Return of the King was achieved. And all rejoiced and were glad.

_"Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed, while the thrones of the Valar endure." —The Return of the King_

The End

_Author's Notes: I hope this is a satisfactory ending. I know at least a couple of my readers wanted me to have Faramir give a logical comeback to the lords, and also for them to find out about him spending time in Gondor as Thorongil. I wrote this story mainly to focus on Faramir's psychological struggles, and though I intended to work both of those points in, my stories are unfortunately completely controlled by their characters, and Faramir told me distinctly that there was no reasonable way for him to know about Thorongil. So, I followed him, and this is where he led me, and I am happy with it. I would love to hear feedback on how you like it, though! Thank you to everyone who reviewed!  
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	3. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It was a remarkably warm October morning when Faramir found his infant relation thrust into his arms by the babe's frantic mother. "Lord Imrahil will be here soon, and Lothiriel is nowhere to be found. Will you watch Olthir for me?" Faramir had no objection, and so took his second cousin out into the gardens which surrounded the castle of Dol Amroth.

Only three months old, the child was the second son of his cousin Elphir, heir to the Princedom of Dol Amroth. His name, which meant Dreamer, was not very apt that day, for he was wide awake and very interested in his surroundings. Faramir felt a happy thrill in holding him, watching his exaggerated movements as he tried to grasp at flowers and stems, his big dreamy blue eyes intense on his purpose, and he felt a secret desire to have one of his own. Not merely a wish, this thought, for he was to be married to Eowyn the following summer. Boromir had rather scoffed at babies, seeing in them only the men they would become, but Faramir had always secretly adored them for what they were: little, soft, rather damp bundles of precious innocent life.

For a while he wandered purposeless, but as he once drew near to the front of the gardens, he saw a lordly escort approaching, and Lord Turthorion of Dor in Ernil rode up to the front gate. When he dismounted and saw Faramir, he bowed low, marveling that the man could look lordly even when cradling a baby in his arms. Faramir nodded his head in response.

"My Lord Steward!" said Turthorion. "I had not expected to find you here." 

"I had not intended to be here until a few days ago," Faramir answered. "You are here to consult with my uncle, are you not?" he asked.

"Indeed, my lord."

"He is not arrived yet, but perhaps you would join me in the gardens? I would wish to speak to you."

Turthorion bowed. "As you wish, lord."

It was a brilliantly sunny day, so bright that Faramir walked westwards to avoid squinting. It seemed almost a shame to be serious; days like these should be enjoyed with hobbit spirit, he thought. There was a softness about the gardens, also, somewhat incongruous with the fact that the plants had to be very hardy to survive so near to the sea. The scents of the flowers mingled strangely, but not unpleasantly, with the salty sea breeze. But despite the location, Faramir managed to be quite focused on his subject.

"Lord Turthorion," began Faramir as soon as they were alone, "you were a close companion of my uncle, Prince Imrahil, and therefore I also knew you, though not well. However, we are not strangers to each other, and so I have noticed that you seem to be avoiding me whenever we meet. I date the beginning of this behavior to when King Elessar was crowned and the council of the lords that met before then. As I am the protector of the King's interests, I thought it wise to ask you if you still bore any of the doubts you expressed then, which might explain this."

Turthorion shook his head gravely, saying: "Quite the contrary, my lord. He has shown remarkable skill in his rule thus far, surpassing all expectations. He is no politician, indeed, but I am quite satisfied with our king. To tell the truth, I believe that he won most hearts when he retained you as Steward, lord. I have never seen a kinder nor a wiser decision made."

Faramir did not know how to answer this, and so remained silent, paying attention to Olthir, who was trying to escape. Turthorion was only some years older than Faramir himself, but he was a grave and serious man who had shown great loyalty, and Faramir felt that his praise was not mindless and held much worth. He continued, as well:

"But he has not won the hearts through that alone; he is a most capable ruler, and is fitting in well. In fact, do you know how he has such knowledge of Gondor and its workings? He has been here before, I would deem, for otherwise his instinct is uncanny in regards to important dates and military organization."

Faramir's mind flashed back to five months before.

_It had been through Imrahil, and his recognition, that Faramir had first learned of Aragorn's past identity as Thorongil. At the time he had not thought much on it, but later one evening, he approached his sovereign on the point._

"_My lord Aragorn," he began, "may I ask why you have not yet told your people that you were once known here as Captain Thorongil? They already begin to love you on their own, but the process would be easier if they recognized you as the once-beloved captain, I believe."_

_Aragorn smiled at Faramir. "Ever you seek to further my interests, O most worthy Arandur," he said, using the Sindarin name for the Stewards. "That is a thoughtful question, and one I had expected that you would ask soon. But I also have thought on it, and, as admirable as your intentions are, how do you think the people would take the news that their king was once a spy and left them without explanation in their hour of need."_

_Faramir's face when Aragorn said 'spy' — a matchless blend of indignance, unbelief, scorn, and loyalty — was worthy of song. "Yes, Faramir, I say spy, not because I thought of myself as such, but because that is how many will see it. Since he is assumed lost, the people look back with a regretful sigh, but were Thorongil brought back to life as Elessar, they might have a few bitter words to say to him."_

"_That is true," admitted Faramir, "for I myself am curious on the subject, though I at least assume you can explain yourself."_

"_Oh certainly," said Aragorn dryly, "but I am not at all certain that the people would think the finding of Gollum more important than the protection of Gondor, nor a long training process a suitable excuse for a hidden identity. I can see that many would feel betrayed, and uncomfortable, thinking of what they might have said to their King in ignorance. And, I think that I would rather have them love me for myself than anything else. No, Thorongil's time is ended."_

"_Searching for Gollum!" exclaimed Faramir. "Was that it? We are all grateful for that in hindsight, or would be, if the general populace were ready for a detailed explanation of the workings of the Quest. I understand why you would wish to keep it secret still. But," he added, remembering the council, "if there were a position where I thought it would be beneficial, might I have your permission to disclose this information to those who approached me quietly on the subject of your past? It would be very difficult for me to keep people in the dark where I thought such news would be useful."_

_Aragorn eyed his Steward shrewdly, wondering if inquiries had already been made. But Faramir's face was suitably neutral, so Aragorn only responded: "I trust your judgment, Lord Steward. But if you do reveal it, I only ask that the number be kept small."_

_Then they spoke of other things._

Since, Faramir had not seen a need to tell anyone.

"My lord?" Turthorion's face clearly showed that he did not understand why Faramir was lost in time.

But in truth, Faramir was now wondering whether it would be good to tell Turthorion. He was beginning to like the man, who was observant and quiet, but had the strength of mind and skills to lead. He was not of high Numenorean descent, indeed, his house was considered one of the lesser ones of the nobility, but Faramir had never let birth distract him from other qualities.

"Turthorion," he began, "you see many things, and have not guessed falsely. Aragorn has been in Gondor many years before." Before the lord could ask questions, Faramir continued: "He was known to us as Thorongil then, and was preparing himself with hard training for the role he would have to bear. I do not know how long he would have stayed if he had not been called, but that which called him from Pelargir has since proved to be an errand of greatest importance, and he could not come to Gondor again until the War. I tell you this, because I believe you worthy of trust and a man of integrity, but this is a matter to be kept secret. The King does not wish it common knowledge, for reasons of his own."

Turthorion, even had he been a man of hasty words, could not have spoken then, his face a mixture of wonder and confusion at the idea that the King had once been nearly as renowned under a different name. For a moment Faramir could almost imagine that he heard the man's mind busily working out the situation. Then, Turthorion laughed. "Is there anything that the King has not done? Who, in all these years, could have guessed that after a thousand years of waiting, our king would be an elven ranger of the North who served in Gondor's army as a common captain?"

Faramir, at first surprised that the man could laugh, then joined him in the mirth at such a picturesque view. "You are right, Turthorion. Who _could_ guess?"

"My lord," continued Turthorion, "I find that time has softened my views on such subjects. We were all looking for a magnificent and perfect specimen of Numenorean race, of course, when we heard that the king was to return. The sight of him grey-clad in the Houses of Healing, with a noble but scarred face, rather shook us, as did our later knowledge of him. But, you first wondered why I was avoiding you, so I shall tell you. After the first shock had worn off, and the people did not rebel under him, we slowly began to appreciate his majesty more than ever. Far from causing dissension, he has united the people under one banner and to one purpose, bringing a freshness and vitality to Gondor again. He has so succeeded, indeed, that I felt shamed by my original doubt. You were angry at that council, lord, and once I saw how well that anger was warranted, I thought that you might not wish to associate with me anymore."

Faramir's face was quite incredulous. "Did you think that indeed? Let me prove you wrong. I beg pardon for my behavior that day, for you did nothing wrong, and I believe instead that you did me a favor. Did you think that I did not consider what you told me? I did, and as I did not then know about Thorongil, I struggled long with the subject, and in the end trusted to hope alone. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life."

"You were wiser than you knew, my lord," said Turthorion admiringly.

Faramir laughed merrily. "Turthorion, I believe his majesty would be jealous of the blind devotion you give to me. I had hoped to show you that all men deal with difficult choices, and here you act as if I had some great wisdom that led me down the path instead of just the fallible judgment of an ordinary man, however inspired it may seem in hindsight."

Turthorion smiled a little, but he said: "Do you not believe it is so? Do you not believe that the Stewardship was given to you for such a time as this?"

Faramir looked at him with a strange expression, and said after a pause: "In a way, yes, I do. When I look at the Great Years, I cannot but believe that we were carefully placed in our positions, no matter what they were. I was placed in the Stewardship to accept the king, and you were placed in the City at that time for me to understand my purpose more clearly. It is strange, is it not? For men have always looked to the past and bemoaned that men were greater then, that we have not such nobility now as we had then. And yet, when it came to the test, it was our time that was chosen for the renewing of Gondor, and we were the ones chosen to make it so. What special worth was in us, we shall never fully know, but it comforts me when I think that there must have been some."

Turthorion did not speak, but Faramir felt that he understood, more than perhaps any man had understood Faramir before. Olthir had fallen asleep in his arms, and so for some time they walked in silence. Faramir was surprised at how much he had said to Turthorion, and how much of it was the sort of things he would never have revealed to anyone else before, except maybe Frodo. There was something special about Turthorion for Faramir, though: his uncle was so old, his king so new, his cousins so informal, all others in his life from other realms, so that Faramir could never talk about Gondor in this way with them. It felt strangely comfortable to be able to voice those feelings at last, and what was more, Turthorion comprehended them. That council so many months ago in Minas Tirith had opened Faramir's eyes in many ways, and not least of all in showing him the worth to be found in the lesser house of the lords of Dor in Ernil. For though he had now gathered around him an uncle, a king, a mentor, several cousins, a bodyguard, a fiance, and a brother-in-law, it was only now and in the least likely place that Faramir found that he also needed a confidante.

They spoke no more that afternoon, and when Imrahil finally arrived, they parted for that time. But though they saw each other seldom after that, they found that a small but important part of their lives was filled by the other, and once again acknowledged fate's design in placing them first as enemies so that they might become friends.

_Author's Notes: Several of my readers asked for more, and though I had not planned anything, I agreed with them that perhaps some ends needed to be wrapped up. I hope this satisfies, and I may perhaps write a sequel at some point about the months between Aragorn's coronation and this chapter. I certainly did not expect Turthorion to take over my story, and even with more screen-time he is not content, and is now demanding a complex personality and backstory...darn characters.  
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End file.
